


The Wrong Place for Love

by DragonSilk



Category: Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Amell is not the Warden, Awkward Romance, Circle Mages, F/M, Fluff, Life in the Circle, POV Second Person, Reader-Insert, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-30
Updated: 2020-05-30
Packaged: 2021-03-02 23:47:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,250
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24461542
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DragonSilk/pseuds/DragonSilk
Summary: Brought to the Circle at a young age, you've gotten used to the constant presence of the templars. Survival demands that you ignore them even as you try to never get trapped alone with one.But then a new recruit joins your Circle, and you keep running into him. Is he following you around or are you the one gravitating toward him?Cullen Rutherford/Amell!Reader(Duncan bypasses the Circle in this one, but does that mean you have to die?)
Relationships: Amell/Cullen Rutherford, Cullen Rutherford/Reader, Female Amell/Cullen Rutherford
Comments: 6
Kudos: 24





	The Wrong Place for Love

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! Welcome to my new fic!
> 
> I had an idea for a Cullen fic that just would not leave me alone. I really wanted to explore the beginning of Cullen's romance with Amell and perhaps see where it could go with an Amell who never became a Warden. 
> 
> I love writing second person to allow for reader immersion, and I feel like RPG video games allow for that nicely. I won't impose any features on the reader, nor will I actually make use of the Amell name. The Amell background is just my starting point, the place where this fic fits into the canon so to speak. 
> 
> I add tags as I go along. 
> 
> Please let me know if there's interest! :)

A new batch of templars tends to cause a stir within the Circle. There’s some excitement over having some new faces in the tower, but there’s also fear that one or more of those new faces will be cruel. 

Greagoir doesn’t allow abuse in his tower. That doesn’t stop the templars from pushing the boundaries to see what they can get away with, especially anyone new. 

So far, you’ve been lucky. You keep your head down and focus on learning magic. None of the Templars have cornered you alone, yet. 

“Have you seen him?”

“He’s so handsome!”

Whispers catch your attention. Your gaze is on the book in front of you, but you can’t focus as the two girls at your library table giggle. 

“I wouldn’t mind finding myself in a dark corner with him.” 

You wonder who they could be talking about. The new recruits arrived a few days ago, but the only one that you’ve noticed is a man who looks like he’s Irving’s age. Then again, with so few new faces to look at around here, being picky is a luxury. 

The book in front of you details different types of glyphs, but you can’t focus. With no affinity for glyphs and no real desire to be competent at them, you know that you’re going to fail Irving’s test.

And Irving is convinced you don’t have the focus for the more advanced primal spells. You huff, knowing that you’re proving him right. 

As the girls next to you giggle over what they want to do with the new templar, you collect the books you’ve been reading. It’s not their fault that you think glyphs are useless. Jowan was supposed to help you study, but he’s gone missing again. 

The tower has plenty of hiding spots, but he’s been in the Chantry a lot lately. When you ask, he’s given you nonsense about finding his faith. Either way, you decide to look there first. 

The Chantry is empty. The priestess isn’t even present to greet you. You shut the door behind you as you step into the quiet room, an idea forming. “Hello?” you call out, just in case someone is hiding behind the prayer screens. 

Nobody responds so you settle into the front pews with your book of glyphs. Strictly speaking, you’re not supposed to cast spells outside of lessons with a senior enchanter, but you can’t imagine glyphs getting out of control. Perched on the pew, you practice your glyphs on the floor, starting with the paralysis glyph. You study the shape of the glyph in the book, hold the shape in your mind, and using your mana, you push the glyph into existence on the floor. 

Your first attempt flickers out of existence immediately. 

Cursing, you know it’s due to impatience. Irving keeps telling you to fully form the glyph in your mind before you try to push it into the world, but that’s such a waste of time. Why bother paralyzing your enemy when you can freeze him until he can’t move? 

Still, he won’t teach you anything advanced until you can at least manage the glyphs. So you try again, holding the whole glyph in your mind, trying to focus on the details. Then you push it into the world, using your mana to make it real on the ground in front of you. 

The lines are golden this time, shining brightly. You hold your breath as you wait to see if this glyph will last. 

The door to the Chantry swings open, and the stomp of metal on stone startles you. You jump up from your seat on the pew…

And find yourself standing on top of your own glyph. 

_ Andraste blast it all _ . 

Your body is frozen, your legs and arms unable to move, but you can turn your head. Should you be grateful for your own shoddy craftsmanship? 

The templar in the doorway takes his helmet off, revealing a curly head of hair and a young face. He gives you a sheepish grin. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to scare you.” 

He can’t see the glyph from the doorway, and as he steps into the Chantry, allowing the door to shut behind him, you wonder if you should plead for help or scream. He can punish you for using spells outside of class, and you’re all alone with him. 

Your brain must be paralyzed, too, because you can’t decide what to do or say. 

Each step he takes toward you, fills you with dread, and the smile drops off his face. “Did you want to be alone?” he asks. “I can, er, come back later.” 

The glyph will wear off if he leaves you alone, but you don’t know how long that will take. Another mage would be preferable to a templar…

He looks down, his eyes widening, and you know that it’s too late. “Oh,” he says. He stands there, staring at you, and you wonder why he hasn’t hit you with a silence yet. Many of the templars wouldn’t hesitate to silence a mage using magic outside of their classes. 

“Please,” you plead, unable to articulate everything you’re asking. Please don’t hurt me. Please help me. 

“Yes of course.” He approaches the edge of your glyph and kneels down next to it. He puts his hand down on the ground at the edge, and you can feel your magic draining away as the glyph flickers and disappears. 

Then your magic is back, a punch in the gut, and you fall to your knees. The templar reaches out, and you lurch away from his hands, landing on your butt. 

“Sorry! Please don’t report me.” You’re not paralyzed, but that doesn’t mean you aren’t at his mercy right now. 

He stands up and takes a step back. “I can’t just ignore unsupervised magic.” 

“Please.” You’re desperate. “They’ll brand me a blood mage, but you saw… You know I was only practicing warding.” 

He frowns and stays silent. 

“They’ll make me tranquil.” You look up at him, knowing that this might ruin you. He holds your future in his hands, and you don’t even know his name. You stand, trying to collect yourself. “I promise I won’t do it again.” 

He’s taller than you, but you look up into his eyes and try to make him see that you’re innocent of any wrongdoing. You’re no blood mage or would-be apostate. You’ve survived the tower for most of your life.

“I can vouch that you weren’t doing blood magic, but I still need to report this.” He looks down at his feet. “But it wouldn’t be right for them to make you tranquil for this. I can promise you that won’t happen.” 

“You can’t keep that promise.” He doesn’t know how things work around here. You collect your books, filled with the knowledge that you’ll be branded a blood mage, and over a glyph of all things.

Then the door swings open, and the chantry sister enters. She seems surprised to see the two of you in the Chantry. “Hello. Have you come to pray?” 

You attempt to smile. “Thank you, Sister, but I was just leaving.” You look back at the templar and give him one last pleading glance. “Blessed are the peacekeepers, the champions of the just.” 

His brow furrows as he frowns, but you don’t give him the chance to say anything before you leave. He promised you wouldn't be made tranquil, but you can't trust the word of a templar. 


End file.
